Tea and Sympathy
by MyLadyScribbler
Summary: McGee is having a hard time dealing with everything that happened to him while he and Gibbs were imprisoned in Paraguay. He goes to Ducky for help and advice - and over a pot of tea in the autopsy suite, the two of them have a very long talk.


McGee is still having a hard time coping with his traumas resulting from his and Gibbs's two months in captivity. So he goes to Ducky for advice. Over a pot of tea, the two of them have a long talk about dealing with their own respective psychic scars.

This is set around the events of the second episode of season 15. Now, this might not be exactly how that episode plays out, since it hasn't aired yet, but this is how I think McGee might bring up his inner demons with some of the rest of the team. I've given this story a T rating because of the subject matter - discussions of torture and emotional scarring.

 **xNCISx**

McGee nervously shifted from one foot to the other as he watched the floor numbers count down on the elevator.

Not for the first time, he was wondering if he was doing the right thing.

That morning, while the team was out at the crime scene, he'd walked over to Ducky while no one else was looking. The chief medical examiner had been packing up his case after seeing that the corpse was safely stowed in the van.

"Ducky…can I talk to you about something, later on?" McGee had asked Ducky in a low voice.

McGee hadn't explained why. But Ducky seemed to know exactly what was going on. "Of course," Ducky said solemnly. "Meet me in autopsy around one o'clock."

It was now two minutes to one. McGee took a deep shuddering breath as the elevator opened on the autopsy level.

The double doors to the autopsy suite hissed open, and he walked through.

Ducky looked up from where he was brewing a pot of tea at his desk. "Ah, there you are, Tim. Please, sit down," he said, gesturing to one of the chairs nearby.

McGee sank down into the chair, gazing around the room in a sort of daze. The gleaming white walls and stainless steel tables of the autopsy suite, the cheerful painted flowers on the teapot and mugs: they all seemed a world away from the hell that he'd had endured for two months.

Ducky removed the mesh ball of tea leaves from the pot and poured out a cup. "Drink this," he said firmly. "It'll put some spring back in your step."

McGee took a sip of the tea. It was an Earl Grey-type tea, but with some extra citrus and floral notes in it.

"The blend's called Anastasia," Ducky said, pouring a second cup for himself. "Named of course for a certain Russian princess, but the name comes from the Greek word for resurrection. And there are some people around here who could use resurrecting of sorts."

He sat down and took a swig of his own tea, and then he gave McGee a meaningful look. "I think I know why you've come down here, Tim," he said softly. "How are you feeling?"

McGee gazed down into his mug of tea as his hands trembled slightly. "Awful."

"I'd be surprised if you weren't feeling awful," Ducky said. "Would you care to go into a few more specifics?"

"I haven't been sleeping well lately," McGee began slowly. "It takes me forever to fall asleep…I'm afraid of what I'll dream about."

"That you'll find yourself back in your cell all over again," Ducky prompted.

McGee nodded vigorously, as an image rushed unbidden into his head.

 _The henchmen sloshed another bucket of water over Gibbs's towel-covered face. "Stop it! You're killing him!" McGee screamed._

"Delilah tells me that I've been screaming in my sleep." McGee said. "She doesn't say so, but I know it's scaring her." By now, his hands were trembling so badly that the tea was threatening to spill.

"You'd better set your cup down," Ducky said.

McGee placed the cup on the desk and looked down at the floor, knotting his fingers together.

"And how have you been during the day?" Ducky asked.

"Even more kinds of awful. One of the IT guys. He was talking about how he and his girlfriend were going out to celebrate her…" McGee swallowed several times. "Her birthday." He looked back up at Ducky. "The minute he said 'birthday,' I just fell apart."

 _"When is your birthday?" the interrogator demanded, over and over again._

Ducky nodded gravely.

McGee picked his cup back up and took another long sip. Suddenly, he set the cup back down with enough force to send some tea sloshing over the side. "Everyone's getting back to normal except me!" he shouted.

"McGee…"

"I'm serious, Ducky!" By now, tears were building up in McGee's eyes. "Gibbs is back at his desk, same as usual. Like nothing happened. I can't do that! I can't!"

There was a moment of silence, broken only by McGee taking a few ragged breaths.

"Is this what this is about, then?" Ducky asked.

McGee nodded.

"You're feeling guilty, then. Inadequate. Like you've failed Gibbs in some way."

McGee hastily wiped his eyes as a few tears threatened to overflow.

"Tim, you're not Gibbs, any more than I am," Ducky said, reaching for a box of tissues and handing it to McGee. He took another sip of tea and shook his head. "Leroy Jethro Gibbs, as we both know, is a man who deals with life's miseries in his own unique way."

McGee took a few tissues, finished wiping his eyes and drank some more tea. And then he thought of something.

"Ducky?"

"Yes, Tim?"

"How did…" McGee tried to figure out what to say. "How did you deal with everything that happened with Mr. Pain?"

Ducky looked at McGee for a long moment. Then he set his cup down on the desk and gazed absently at the supply cabinet on the opposite wall.

"To be honest, Tim, I'm not sure sometimes," Ducky said. "But I will tell you this. I may not have been held captive in Paraguay for two months. But for a long time after what happened with Mr. Pain…" Ducky took a deep breath as a haunted look came into his eyes. "I found myself, mentally, in a place very much like you are now."

"But you still came to work most days," McGee said.

"On the outside, I was my usual self, in my usual orbit of crime scene and autopsy suite. But on the inside, I was in agony. I felt as if..." Ducky paused. "As if a dark storm cloud had wrapped itself around me and wouldn't let go."

"Did you have nightmares?"

"Every night for a week at least, maybe a lot longer, after that business at the embassy," Ducky continued. "I kept seeing Javid…and sometimes, I'd imagine it was me, rather than him, strapped to a chair in Mr. Pain's torture room." He shuddered as the memory of all those bad dreams and sleepless nights came back.

"I didn't know," McGee said quietly. "You never said much about it to us."

"I couldn't, not at first. It was much too difficult," Ducky said. "It was a long time before those dark clouds lifted." He gave McGee a look. "But they did. And yours will too, eventually."

"I don't think…"

"Timothy Farragut McGee, listen to me." Ducky leaned forward and gripped McGee by the shoulder. "You are not weak. You are one of the strongest, and bravest, young men I know," he said firmly. "And I know Gibbs feels the same way."

McGee was staring down at the floor. But he nodded.

"Good," Ducky said. He leaned back in his chair. "Do you and Delilah know yet if you're having a boy or a girl?"

"Not sure," McGee said. "The doctor said we may know more in a month or so. But Delilah's got a big stack of baby name books by the bed."

He and Ducky continued talking, about that and other things, and finishing up the last of the tea.

The phone rang, and Ducky put it on speakerphone. It was Bishop. "Hi, Ducky, Gibbs was asking if you had anything about the deceased's dental records."

"I'll check and see if they've arrived." Ducky ended the call. "Well, Tim, I suppose it's back to work for us."

McGee was still feeling glum. But after the tea and the talk, he felt like some of the feelings of despair were starting to go away.

"Thanks for the tea, Ducky," he said, standing up.

"You're most welcome," Ducky said, also rising. "If you ever need to talk again, do not hesitate to ask."

McGee shook Ducky's hand – and then the two men exchanged a hug and a mutual cuff on the shoulders before going about their respective business.

He was going to keep going back to that cell in Paraguay in his dreams for a while, McGee thought as he pressed the elevator button for the bullpen floor.

But those prison doors weren't going to be so hard to break down now.

 **xNCISx**

Reviews welcome!

Oh, by the way: Anastasia is an actual blend of tea, by Kusmi Tea. Not that I want to do any plugs, mind, but your esteemed author, like Ducky, has a tin of it on hand.


End file.
